


Ron Origin Story

by IamShadow21



Series: Abandoned, Unfinished and Unpublished Potter Works [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Closeted Character, Coming of Age, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Gen, Gender Roles, Growing Up Gay, Heteronormativity, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Second Year, Masturbation, Porn Magazines, Pre-Series, Queer Gen, Queer Themes, Quidditch, Secret Crush, Unrequited Crush, Weasley Family, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>You’re</i> the Knight,” six year old Ginny said imperiously, from her perch in the apple tree. “And <i>I’m</i> the Princess. You have to fight a dragon and rescue me.”</p><p>“Why?” Ron asked, kicking at a clump of grass.</p><p>“Because that’s what knights do,” Ginny insisted. “They fight dragons and rescue princesses.”</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Ron pronounced. “I don’t want to.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ron Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Opening](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047850) by [IamShadow21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21). 



> I think that this was my original story for Rontoberfest, that I ended up discarding because it was going to be unmanageable in too short a time frame. I wrote [Opening](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1047850) instead, which effectively skipped Ron's early childhood and formative years at Hogwarts, and jumped straight to the post-War years when Ron finally felt comfortable coming out. So if you want to read this as a bit of prequel information for Opening, then you can. I don't think there's anything too contrary in it to what I wrote in Opening, and it's sprung from the same source - the idea of showing Ron growing up with attraction to people of the same gender, and how he coped with that.

“ _You’re_ the Knight,” six year old Ginny said imperiously, from her perch in the apple tree. “And _I’m_ the Princess. You have to fight a dragon and rescue me.”

“Why?” Ron asked, kicking at a clump of grass.

“Because that’s what knights do,” Ginny insisted. “They fight dragons and rescue princesses.”

“That’s stupid,” Ron pronounced. “I don’t want to.”

Ginny got That Look on her face. The one that meant she was about to attack, or start yelling for their mum.

Ron had to ‘rescue’ Ginny four times before she got bored.

***

“Don’t just stand there, you idiot!” Fred grabbed Ron by the shirt and yanked him into the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. “We weren’t going to show you, but you’re here now.”

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, suspiciously, inching back towards the door.

George sniggered. “Come and see.”

Fred giggled, too. “Unless you’re too much of a girl.”

Ron’s face heated, and his hands balled into fists. “Take that back. I’m not a girl.”

The ten year old twins smirked, their expressions mocking. 

“Prove it,” George challenged.

“If you look, I _might_ give you that Ptolemy card I got last month,” Fred said casually, teasingly.

Ron licked his lips. He wanted that card.

He walked across the room and climbed up onto Fred’s bed, where the twins were sitting, gazing down at the cover of a glossy magazine.

“But that’s-” Ron began.

“Charlie’s,” Fred said smugly.

“Nicked it,” George elaborated.

“He won’t complain,” Fred said confidently. “If he does, we’ll just tell Mum where he hides them.”

Ron swallowed nervously. George opened the magazine.

It was full of witches. Naked witches. Witches with their… bits out.

Fred and George, despite their earlier nonchalance, were quickly reduced to wide eyes, slightly parted lips and glazed expressions.

“Look at…” Fred began.

“Yeah…” George agreed.

A pouty-lipped witch was doing something with her wand that Ollivander would never have approved of. The twins both reached down and adjusted their erections.

“Where are all the boys?” Ron asked, slightly bored.

The twins stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

Fred flicked a quick sideways glace at George. “You’d rather see boys… with their wands out?” he asked, slowly and carefully.

Ron flushed bright red, aware that somehow, he’d made a dreadful error. “No… no,” he stammered.

When the twins finally kicked him out of their room, without the Chocolate Frog card, Ron went upstairs and curled up in bed. He felt sick and scared and confused, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t even go down for dinner, and when he growled at his mum to leave him alone, she forcibly dosed him with Pepper-Up, thinking he was coming down with something. It didn’t help.

***

“He’s just sensitive, Molly,” Ron overheard his dad say one day, when he was hiding from the twins in the garden under the kitchen window. They’d made him cry again, and his face was hot and sore and dirty.

“…worry about him. He’s so like-” his mum began.

“All our boys have been different. He’s just going through a phase, that’s all. He’ll bounce back from it,” his dad soothed.

Shortly after, his dad managed to get tickets for a Quidditch match. Though Ron had always listened to it on the Wireless with his brothers, he’d never actually been to a real game before. It didn’t matter that the teams playing were the lowest ranked in the League. It didn’t matter that it rained, and that both teams played extremely badly. By the time Ron left the stadium, he was a Cannons fan through and through.

He begged his parents for merchandise, and was thrilled to receive a genuine Cannons scarf for his ninth birthday. Charlie clipped every article about the Cannons out of his copies of _Quidditch Monthly_ for him, though Ron sometimes had to ask what the hard words, like ‘abysmal’ and ‘embarrassment’, meant. His side of his bedroom took on a dazzling glow when his mum charmed his sheets Cannons orange, and made his duvet look just like the official merchandise one that Quality Quidditch Supplies sold for twelve Galleons.

His dad looked happier, and his mum beamed at him whenever he got excited about the next game.

“We’re going to win this one, Mum,” he’d say, and she’d bundle him into a big hug.

He didn’t tell them why he’d suddenly become obsessed with Quidditch in general, and the Cannons in particular.

He didn’t tell them that the Cannons Seeker, Robard Swift, whose poster now adorned his ceiling, made him feel giddy, and his stomach all fluttery. That him flying a broom, all slick and wet, had been the most incredibly beautiful thing Ron had ever seen in his life. 

Even if Robard did miss the Snitch four times, and collide with one of his own Chasers. Twice.

***

“Will you teach me, Mum?”

Molly Weasley, up to her elbows in flour, looked down at her youngest son.

“Please?”

She looked at him sharply for a moment, as though searching for the slightest spark of mischief. Apparently finding none, she broke off a lump of dough, and told him to roll his sleeves up past his elbows.

“Ginny? Do you want some too?” she asked.

“No,” Ginny said, scornfully. She went back to throwing little bits of tinder and pinecones into the kitchen fire to watch them burn. Her knees were scabby and grass stained, and there was a tear in the sleeve of her jumper.

Ron kneaded and shaped his little loaf well, if not as symmetrically as his mum did hers, and earned his mother’s praise. “It’ll be just the right size to have with dinner,” she said, and Ron felt proud.

“You’re _weird_ ,” Ginny said later, wrinkling her nose up. “Boys don’t cook.”

Ron’s happiness burst like a soap bubble. “Do too!”

“Don’t. Dad never does,” Ginny pointed out, fairly. Their father wasn’t allowed to do so much as whisk gravy.

“Well, you’re a girl. And you hate cooking,” he argued.

“I’ll like it when I’m a grownup,” Ginny retorted. “Mummy says so. She says when I get married, I will, but I don’t have to like it now. But boys aren’t supposed to _at all_ , and you do, and that’s _weird_.”

“That’s rubbish,” Ron said, screwing up his fists into balls.

“Is not,” Ginny said mulishly.

“Is too!”

“Is _not!_ ”

“It _is too!_ Take it back!”

Ginny wouldn’t. Ron punched her in the arm, and was sent to bed after tea without pudding.

He didn’t ask to help his mum cook again, but he watched and learnt and listened and _tasted…_

***

Harry swept into Ron’s life like a whirlwind. He changed everything. Suddenly, Ron had a friend his own age and his own gender that didn’t tease him or make fun of him, or expect anything of him other than friendship. Harry made him feel important, and that something about him must be okay.

When Ron became a knight and stepped into the queen’s path, he thought that loyalty and devotion would be enough. He thought that maybe, just maybe, for Harry, he could be just as valiant and brave as a Gryffindor should be.

Then, a year later, Harry swept in and rescued his sister from a terrible monster. With a sword.

Ron saw the starry look in Ginny’s eyes when she crawled back through the gap into the tunnel, saw Harry looking bruised, bloodied and heroic, and carrying a sword.

A _sword._

That was when he knew that life wasn’t fair, and that surely, he was forever doomed to be the one left behind, shifting rocks.

***

The year Ron turned thirteen was the year the dreams started. 

At first, he didn’t remember them at all. He’d just wake up with a jolt, his heart racing, his face flushed, with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and a mess in his pyjamas.

Then, one morning, before dawn, he woke up when Seamus threw a boot at his head.

“Quit yer moaning,” Seamus grouched sleepily, before resuming his regular, droning snore.

As his mind cleared of some of the fog of sleep and the ringing in his ear eased, Ron realised that he was lying on his front and rocking his hips automatically, rubbing his aching cock against the mattress. He knew he should stop, but his skin felt like it was buzzing, and it was like scratching the most delicious itch in the world. 

Mindful of his room mates, and the whimpers that he could not contain, Ron buried his face in his pillow, biting the cloth and rocking ever faster as the images from his recent dream washed over him. 

_Victor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker, was unlacing his Quidditch gauntlets; slowly, almost teasingly. Those clever hands deftly and swiftly undid buckles and ties, loosening the tight-fitting protective gear. Ron couldn’t keep his eyes off them._

_Suddenly, Krum looked up and met his gaze. His smile was knowing, and his eyes were a brilliant green._

Ron’s eyes snapped open in shock as his body began to convulse. High pitched, pitiful whines forced themselves out between his gritted teeth, muffled by the pillow but still sounding far, far too loud in the stillness of the dormitory. As swiftly as it had come, the pleasure departed, leaving Ron panting and sticky, his heart hammering in his ears. 

He went from too hot to ice cold in moments. His stomach churned, sick with guilt and fear. He had older brothers, and he’d heard enough from them to work out what had happened, what he’d done, and that he _definitely_ shouldn’t have been thinking about another boy just now.

He wanted to be clean, and his first wild thought was to run to the showers and scrub himself raw. Instead, he curled himself into a tight ball, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them, and tried to pretend away the unpleasant, sticky evidence. He closed his eyes, but Krum was waiting there with a lazy smile that made his spent cock twitch feebly, so he opened them again and lay staring into the darkness until the sun began creeping over the casement.

Soon enough, he got very good at pretending, and at locking away the shame deep inside. True, it made him angry and ill-tempered, and liable to lashing out at those around him, but he didn’t connect the two. In fact, unless he was in the act of roughly, furtively touching himself, he was almost able to convince himself that he didn’t think about boys that way at all.

***

Fleur changed everything.

Just when Ron was ever-so-tentatively admitting to himself that maybe, _maybe_ , his motives weren’t entirely pure when he leafed through _Quidditch Monthly_ alone in his bedroom, she floated into Hogwarts like a fairytale princess, all silken hair and soft, white skin.

Considering that Krum, the star of most of his primitive fantasies, was also stalking the school corridors like a dark, brooding shadow, he didn’t think he’d ever felt so confused and frustrated in his life.

How could it be (end)


End file.
